


Restraint

by goodomensblog (just_quintessentially_me), just_quintessentially_me



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Love, M/M, Romance, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 20:16:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19303069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_quintessentially_me/pseuds/goodomensblog, https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_quintessentially_me/pseuds/just_quintessentially_me
Summary: Look but don’t touch.The sentiment was as old as - well, at least as old as the garden. The Garden (all capitals, mind you) is, of course, the most famous example of failed restraint - with regard to apple touching and then consumption, respectively.Crowley, being the original tempter, had a unique relationship with restraint. His day job was to advocate against it, seeing as he was a temptation demon. When it came down to it though, Crowley was actually very good at resisting temptations - when he wanted to. Not that he often wanted to. Demons are, after all, creatures of indulgence.When Crowley wanted to get drunk, he miracled himself a bottle of his favorite vintage wine. When he wanted to drive fast, he used London as his own personal speedway. When he wanted sex, well - you get the idea.It wasn’t often that Crowley felt the need to utilize his surprising talent for self discipline. There was, however, one very notable exception.





	Restraint

**Author's Note:**

> I got an ask on tumblr about Crowley brushing Aziraphale's wings - and so I obviously had to write this.

_Look but don’t touch._

The sentiment was as old as - well, at least as old as the garden. The Garden (all capitals, mind you) is, of course, the most famous example of failed restraint - with regard to apple touching and then consumption, respectively.

Crowley, being the original tempter, had a unique relationship with restraint. His day job was to advocate against it, seeing as he was a temptation demon. When it came down to it though, Crowley was actually very good at resisting temptations - when he wanted to. Not that he often _wanted to_. Demons are, after all, creatures of indulgence.

When Crowley wanted to get drunk, he miracled himself a bottle of his favorite vintage wine. When he wanted to drive fast, he used London as his own personal speedway. When he wanted sex, well - you get the idea.

It wasn’t often that Crowley felt the need to utilize his surprising talent for self discipline. There was, however, one very notable exception.

In his bookshop, the angel Aziraphale sat, surrounded by books.

Considering Aziraphale lived and worked in a bookshop, he was obviously always surrounded by books, in the general sense. But in this case, he was quite literally surrounded by books.

Aziraphale sat in the middle of his bookshop, the CLOSED sign prominently displayed on the door, with what appeared to be a good seventy percent of his formidable collection placed on the floor in neat piles. If asked, the angel would claim this was all for “ _inventory purposes_.”

In reality, after feeling a bit nostalgic, he’d decided to flip through a few of his old favorites, and had, er - well gotten just a bit carried away.

Not that anyone  _did_  ask.

The only individual who would have asked - since Aziraphale had kicked out his customers - was distracted by the one other notable feature in the room.

A pair of large, snowy white wings.

Crowley, who’d miracled himself into the book shop to see if Aziraphale was interested in going to lunch, saw the windows first. They were propped open, and bright sunlight poured in, lighting and warming the cluttered space. 

He turned, Aziraphale’s name on his lips - when he saw them.

Magnificent, they stretched out, extending over the nearby stacks, and resting atop the sturdiest of the books. Beneath the sun, the white, downy wings seemed to glow.

It was as Crowley stood, staring at the wings Aziraphale so rarely brought out on this plane of existence, that the age old adage again came to mind.

_Look but don’t touch._

Crowley circled the angel - who was so immersed in reading he didn’t even appear to notice the new entrant. 

Stepping carefully around the books, Crowley observed Aziraphale; looking from his hair - standing up at odd angles, appearing even lighter in the sun, to his eyes - half-lidded, fair eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he blinked down at his treasured words, and finally to his wings, white, and ruffled,  _and looking soft enough to touch_.

Crowley swallowed, unaware that he was flexing and clenching his hands at his sides.

He couldn’t even say he had a good reason for wanting to touch the angel’s wings. They were likely soft, he supposed - would probably feel nice. That and, well -

They were a part of Aziraphale.

And Crowley, sometime around the fifteenth century, had come to the uncomfortable realization that the world was a brighter, livelier, more wonderful place when Aziraphale was nearby to him - and Crowley was already very fond of the world (don’t mention it to Hell), so this was really saying something.

Throughout the centuries, Crowley had found excuses to touch the angel - because if being near Aziraphale made the world better, touching Aziraphale made Crowley’s world transform into something radiant. So Crowley got creative. It was a handshake here, a clap on the arm there. Brushing shoulders as they walked. Even one notable instance where he’d plucked a speck of dirt from the left side of the angel’s nose.

Aziraphale had only taken his wings out in front of Crowley three times since they’d been assigned to Earth. So far, Crowley hadn’t dared touch them.

Not that he should have dared. Wings were intensely personal part of an angel - or demon’s body. A respectable being didn’t just go up and touch them.

Crowley, of course, was a demon. And demons are not respectable.

But Aziraphale was an angel, and _…_ admittedly, very special to Crowley.

So Crowley resisted.

He contented himself with stepping nearer to the angel, and watching as the wings twitched, feathers swaying beneath the light afternoon breeze. All of Aziraphale’s feathers were somewhat ruffled, but a few stuck up from the rest.

Crowley didn’t know  _why_  he reached out, when he’d definitively decided not to. The only explanation that came to mind was that perhaps the body he rarely fed was finally rebelling - because his hand was most definitely moving. 

His fingers were inches from the wayward feathers when reason returned to him. Muscles locking, he froze.

As if sensing the anxiety in the air, Aziraphale looked up from his book. Blinking his eyes into focus, he turned partially around - and caught sight of Crowley, hand extended toward the wing.

Crowley stood, caught. Hot with shame, he rushed to explain. “I wasn’t-” 

Aziraphale interrupted.

“Oh Crowley! I didn’t even notice you come in.” His gaze flickered to Crowley, and then to his hand, and finally, the wing he’d stretched out atop the books.

Crowley cut in, desperately afraid that Aziraphale might never again trust him.  _And why should he?_

_“Aziraphale-”_

“I know, I really should take better care of them, shouldn’t I?” Aziraphale sighed. “Were you going to fix those for me?” he said, nodding toward the jutting feathers. “You can go ahead.”

Crowley blinked, removed his sunglasses, and then blinked again.

Aziraphale’s gaze had returned to the book. He’d left his wings open to Crowley and his back deliberately exposed.

“I’m almost done with this one,” Aziraphale hummed into the book. “Feel free to tackle some of the other messy spots while you’re at it, dear. I trust you’ll do a good job.”

“I- yeah, of course,” Crowley said, his voice hoarse and his heartbeat thudding absurdly loudly in his ears.

Surrounded by books, he knelt behind the angel and extended a hand.

If you happened to pass that particular bookshop on that particular day, and if you just so happened to glance in an open window at  _just_  the right time, you would have seen the following:

An impossibly bright man, blonde and very nearly glowing, holding an open book in his lap which he was no longer reading. The pair of wings which stretched out from his back were being attended to by another man, who wasn’t so obviously effervescent, but also had a bit of bright  _something_ around him. The second man ran reverent hands over the white wings, carefully brushing feathers into place, while the winged one stole a look over his shoulder - one you couldn’t quite make out, but it was followed by a  _long_ , distinctly meaningful sigh.

Of course, you’d suddenly and inexplicably remember that thing you’d completely forgotten about and were now ten minutes late for. And as you hurried away, the scene you’d witnessed would slide ever so smoothly from your mind, and you’d be left with a strange, vaguely warm feeling that you couldn’t quite define - kind of like you’d very recently had a good hug.

Much later, after you’d gone to bed following an admittedly confusing day, you’d sit up in a cold sweat and think to yourself -  _love_. Of course, the feeling was love.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaand I totally headcanon that Aziraphale feels so safe and comfortable around Crowley that if he was really focused on something, he wouldn't at first notice Crowley's presence - because to Aziraphale, it feels like safety and love.
> 
>  
> 
> You can find me on tumblr!
> 
> [goodomensblog](https://goodomensblog.tumblr.com/)  
> or  
> [just-quintessentially-me](https://just-quintessentially-me.tumblr.com/) (main)


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